


Sacrifice and Regret

by SapphyreLily



Series: Iwaizumi Week 2016 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Final Haikyuu Quest, Angst, Gen, M/M, Mentioned Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 19:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7374934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi Week Day 1 - Superhero</p><p>Being a hero isn't all glory and fame - there are sacrifices to be made, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice and Regret

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited for this week! Hope you enjoy!

The cheers started from far away, filtering in slowly through his dulled hearing. Lifting his eyes from the weathered saddle horn, he stared tiredly at the colourful wave approaching them, the noise growing louder as the distance decreased. His logic told him that it was the people of the surrounding cities and towns, coming forth to meet their heroes.

_Hero. I am their hero._

Bile rose up in his throat and he swallowed thickly, the nauseating taste lingering. His stomach was rolling, though it had not been full for many, many days before, and his lungs felt like they were being crushed.

Golden sparkles skittered up his gauntlet, leaving a lingering warmth.

“Breathe, Hajime.”

_Hajime. Hajime. Hajime._

Iwaizumi took a deep, shuddering breath. The pressure in his lungs eased, the echoes in his head fading. “I am fine, Kenma-kun.”

This time, warmth trickled down his back, a reassuring stroke of his spine. “We are arriving.”

So they were. Iwaizumi focused on the sea of faces, but their words sailed over his head. All he could see was their expressions – gratefulness, and relief mixed in with happiness that they had been liberated from the rule of the demon king.

Iwaizumi’s throat constricted. He couldn’t breathe.

Before Kenma could force air into his lungs, gleeful shouts arose behind him. He almost fell off his horse as a black mare shot past him, the redhead clinging to her back whooping with joy. A dappled grey was close on his heels, the archer on her back yelling after him. The crowd parted, then enveloped them, plucking them straight off their horses and carrying them through the city gates. Their cheers were still unintelligible to him, so he returned his gaze to his hands.

He had to pry his fingers loose when he realised they were crushing the reins.

x.x.x.x.x

The next few hours were a blur. The crowd swept them up to the palace gates, where the queen welcomed them with open arms and a beaming smile.

 _Michimiya_ , he realised, the dark hair and darker eyes jolting the tiniest reaction from him. He almost forgot to bow, stuttered when his name was called, and didn’t raise his sword in triumph when the old princess – now turned queen – declared him the one who finally slew the plague on their country.

In fact, he had flinched at those words.

He was pressed to the back of their ragtag team after that, left staring at his trembling hands while Queen Michimiya congratulated and rewarded the rest of them.

Iwaizumi was rushed into the palace after that mishap of a ceremony, stripped of his armour and dunked into a hot bath. He let out a yowl when the water scalded his skin, and the servants snickered at his misery.

He let them wash him, knowing that he was in no state to do so himself. His head hanging, he watched the layers of dirt slough off his skin, turning the water brown, then black. The servants pulled him out then, and threw him into another bath with fresh water, lightly scented with the smell of–

Iwaizumi clamped down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. He gripped the edge of the tub and pulled himself out, the servants shouting as water splashed everywhere. Two pairs of hands were on him immediately, shoving him back in. They dunked his head under the water and scrubbed viciously, so that the only thing Iwaizumi thought of doing was surfacing to _breathe_. Instead of the almost gentle ministrations from earlier, they attacked him with soaps and fancy-smelling oils, scrubbing until his skin was red and raw. He didn’t even have a chance to fend them off until they finished tying him into a formal kimono.

Iwaizumi looked up then, angry, irritated and gasping for breath, only to have to crane his head back to glare at a strawberry blond with non-existent eyebrows and a brunet who was too gifted in that department.

Funny, this posture felt almost familiar, with his head tilted back and his brows scrunched together, his face fixed in a scowl and the words on the tip of his tongue–

Only for them to die there with the realisation that they would never be said again.

The lump returned to his throat and he turned away from the pair of trees, looking anywhere but _up_ at them.

“Aww, Mattsun, he doesn’t recognise us!”

“Tragic, just tragic.” ‘Mattsun’ tutted, his head shaking in the periphery of Iwaizumi’s vision. “How shall we make him remember?”

“Oh, maybe something like, ‘Iwa-chan! Makki and Mattsun are bullying me again!’”

_“Iwa-chan! Makki and Mattsun are bullying me again!”_

_“Shut up, _____. You deserve it.”_

_“So mean!”_

“–izumi? Iwaizumi? Aw shit. You broke him, Makki.”

“Can’t be him then. The Iwaizumi we know isn’t fazed by anything.”

_I’m not the Iwaizumi you know anymore._

Iwaizumi scrunched his eyes shut and clenched his fists, turning back to the duo. Scraps of memories floated before his eyes, laughter and teasing and casual camaraderie. “Hanamaki? Matsukawa?”

“Aha, he remembers!”

“Welcome back to the land of the living, _Iwa-chan._ ”

_“Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan!”_

_“Are you my mum, Iwa-chan?”_

_“Goodbye, Iwa-chan. I’ve always–“_

“Don’t call me that.” He said quietly.

Iwaizumi saw the smiles melt off Hanamaki and Matsukawa's faces, replaced by guarded concern. “The rumours are true then? You were the one who killed him?”

_Killed._

Iwaizumi looked down at his hands, at the scars and ridges on them, at the bumps of the yet-unhealed blisters. His vision flashed, and suddenly there was black blood on his hands, burning through his gloves and eating away his skin. They were clutched around the corroded handle of his broadsword, its blade darkened and disappearing into a body–

_His magically enhanced strength was the only way he could heft a broadsword that heavy, let alone use it as a weapon. If he had never asked to be stronger, maybe they wouldn’t be in this mess._

_If he had never asked him to use his magic, he never would have found out how much he lusted for power, and the ends he would go to for it._

_“I’ll make you stronger, Iwa-chan. Then you can always protect me.”_

_“You don’t need me to protect you.”_

_He smiled then, a sad rendition of his usual lively grin. “No,_ I _don’t need protecting. The kingdom does. Promise me, Hajime. Promise me you’ll always use your strength for good, no matter the sacrifice.”_

_“I promise.”_

_“Even if_ I _am the sacrifice.”_

_“…I promise.”_

His clean hands swum back into view, briefly overlapping with his last memory of his friend, lover, and soulmate.

Wavy brown tresses darkened with acidic demon blood, a broadsword – _his broadsword_ – sticking out of his chest. The red glow of his eyes diminishing and dying, the faintest of proud smiles gracing his lips. And the words, _the words_ , that they promised never to say, for fear that it would turn their relationship into something _more_.

_I’m sorry, Tooru._

Iwaizumi steeled himself to look into Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s faces.

“Yeah. I killed him.”


End file.
